Near the Summit
by ForForever19
Summary: The one where Rachel is contacted by Charlie, one of her daughter's friend's mothers, and is forced to deal with everything she left behind in Lima, including the ghosts she's been unable to forget. Faberry Future AU in 3 Parts.
1. 2 Kids

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

AN: For this story, we're just going to pretend Quinn was a little older (a high school junior) when she had Beth. So, Babygate, just in their junior year instead of their sophomore one. Also, there is mentioned character death.

* * *

**Part One**

**2 Kids**

* * *

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: charlottediannagreen  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 2 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Mrs Weston,_

_This is probably as strange for you as it is for me but I think it's important I send this email. I hope you don't mind that I got your contact information from Camp Vega, where I believe your daughter has befriended my own over the past few weeks they've been away. From what Beth (my daughter) tells me, Lily sounds like a lovely young girl. They've been thick as thieves since they arrived, I believe, which initially had me ecstatic because my kid is a little shy. Now, though, I find I'm more concerned by what they seem to have planned._

_I don't know if you're aware, but their camp counsellor, Delia, actually sent me an email yesterday, informing me of a conversation she overheard between the two girls, and I just have to ask: is there any reason on your end for why they may or may not be planning to run away to Ohio? I only ask because, well, I don't want my twelve-year-old crossing state lines without me, and Beth has never mentioned any interest in Ohio to me before. I'm assuming it's connected to Lily, though I may be mistaken._

_If I sound accusatory, I don't mean to be. It's just that I'm worried about our children and, while I can implore the camp to keep a closer eye on them, I can't help but want to tackle this myself. As yet, I haven't spoken with Beth about what I know. It sounds odd, I'm sure, but I don't want to spook her, and driving out there right now just seems like overkill. I'm hoping you could clue me in, and maybe we can figure out a way to handle this together, without letting our little terrorists in on the fact we're onto them._

_Hope to hear from you._

_Kind regards,  
__Charlie_

"What the fuck is this?"

Rachel Berry sips carefully at her wine, even as she watches her best friend reread the email off Rachel's _iPad_. She's rather exhausted after her long day at the theatre, and she had to come home to _this_.

"Seriously," Santana Lopez-Pierce says, meeting Rachel's gaze. "Who is this woman? And, who the fuck is Beth?"

Rachel gives her a look. "I told you about the friend Lily made at camp," she says. "This is, apparently, said friend's mother."

Santana, who's slightly hunched over on her own stool at Rachel's breakfast bar, frowns. "I don't understand," she says. "What's this about Ohio?"

Rachel sets her glass on the counter. "Apparently, Lily and Beth here have plans to leave the camp ahead of time and head to Ohio."

"Why?"

Rachel licks her lips. "It may or not be because I very firmly said no when Lily asked if we could go visit my dads when she gets back," she explains.

Santana hums in thought. "I see."

"What do you see?"

"She's _really_ _your_ daughter, isn't she?"

Rachel huffs, running her fingers through her loose hair. "This isn't funny, Santana," she says. "What if Lily actually _runs away_? Oh, my God, I'm going to be one of those mothers whose kid actually _runs away_."

"Easy there, Berry," Santana says. "Lily is _ten_. She's going on an adventure - she's not running away from _you_."

"Are you even hearing yourself?"

Santana laughs. "I don't know what you're so worried about," she says. "You vetted Camp Vega until you were blue in the face. They're not going to _lose_ your kid."

"Okay, but, if this woman is worried, shouldn't I be as well?"

"Maybe she's more of a helicopter mom than you are," Santana offers.

"I resent that."

Santana pours them both some more wine. "I think you're just looking for an excuse to go up there and see her," she says. "Which you know you absolutely can_not_ do."

Rachel grumbles under her breath, because, God, Santana is right. She's been in a foul mood ever since Lily left for summer camp a full two weeks and two days ago. She can barely get enough sleep as it is, and now she has to worry about her little mini-me maybe deciding to go on a cross-country journey with some twelve-year-old because she said _no_ to going to see her grandparents.

Rachel didn't think she would be this type of mother, but she honestly can't help it. She's one of those mothers who's a little too obsessed with her child, and she can't even bring herself to deny it. They haven't been apart for this long, ever, and it's taken its toll on Rachel. She's even spent a few nights in tears, but that could just be because she's a little more dramatic than the average person.

The thing is, sometimes, Rachel will just look at her daughter just for the sake of _looking_ at her. It's odd, she thinks, how the simple act of seeing those familiar features and soft skin can calm all her raging thoughts and ease all her lingering guilt.

It's the one reason Rachel doesn't have any regrets about choosing to bring her into this world, and actually keep her. How can she, when she's ended up with this wonderful human being who has a habit of driving her up the wall with her endless questions and desire for independence?

_That_ is something Rachel has struggled with. Giving her daughter space, and letting her experience life for herself. She _should_ be better at this - she's a _New York Mom_ after all - but Rachel has to remind herself and everyone else that Lily is only ten years old.

She still holds the belief that Lily's much too young for Summer Camp.

_Especially_ when said Summer Camp isn't even in her own state.

Surely, there have to be camps that are closer to home.

What on earth does Pennsylvania have that New York doesn't?

Rachel realised far too late that she was _always_ going to give in to her daughter. She never stood a chance when she pulled out her patent puppy dog eyes, pouty bottom lip _and_ her Aunt Santana. Lily even prepared an entire argument, _PowerPoint_ and all, and Rachel just _couldn't_ refuse.

"But it's so far away," Rachel says, lifting her fresh glass of wine to her lips and taking a large gulp. "And, who in the world decided that six weeks was _any_ amount of time for children to be away from their parents? It's not right, San; it's not."

Santana, while sympathetic, isn't going to contribute to Rachel's pity-party. She doesn't have any children of her own yet, but it's taken all of them to raise little Lily.

A village, as it were.

Diapers are terribly expensive.

So are divorces.

"I told you it's going to be fine," Santana says. "Lily wanted to go. All she knows is NYC, Berry." She pauses. "This makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? I mean, you _haven't_ even taken her to Lima, so, of course, your little explorer wants to go herself." She turns her body slightly. "What's up with that, by the way? Why haven't you taken her to Lima?"

There's _a lot_ up with that, but Rachel's choosing not to comment. Why would Lily ever go there when _Rachel_ wouldn't? Rachel left Lima behind the moment she boarded that train to New York after graduation, and she hasn't looked back since.

It's too… painful, she thinks.

It _hurts_ to think about what and who lived and died there.

She just _can't_.

Santana is supposed to understand that, but she doesn't seem to. It's probably because Santana isn't the one who harbours misplaced guilt and an endless abundance of feelings for a certain blonde that… no longer lives.

Rachel immediately sips at her wine, forcing herself not to think about those things. She's come a long way since that fateful day in high school, but the memories still haunt her.

Sometimes, she's barely sure she's even survived the aftermath.

Still, somehow, she's fared far better than Finn Hudson.

It was Rachel's selfishness that blew apart all their little worlds, and it was Finn's hurt that said, 'I'm done with both of you.'

Nobody could really know just how true that would bend up being.

Rachel forces herself to take steady breaths. She doesn't think about that time in the company of others. Her guilt is paramount, but they all harbour some feelings that only those involved in Glee Club can ever truly understand.

The wine goes down easily and, before Rachel knows it, Santana is drafting a reply to this Charlie.

"I don't know what's going on with you," the Latina says, typing away. "This has nothing to do with Lily, does it?"

"It has everything to do with Lily."

"You forget that I can tell when you're lying," Santana says, glancing up. "What's really going on?"

"She _can't_ go to Ohio," Rachel says softly.

"Okay...?"

"I don't think I'll be able to go and get her, if she does," she admits.

It takes Santana a moment, and then it clicks. "Oh," she sounds, blanching slightly. "That's why you've never - "

Rachel just nods, really not needing her to finish the thought.

Santana clears her throat. "Well, I mean, on the off chance your _terrorist_ does manage to get away, then I'll go," she says. "Or, you know, you could send the man-child."

Rachel rolls her eyes at the mention of Lily's father, a man who she made the mistake of marrying when he asked, and then spent the next four years desperately trying to make said marriage work, until she caught him cheating and immediately filed for divorce. Those are years of her life she'll never get back, but Lily is the only thing she values from that debacle of a relationship.

And, well, experience.

_Experience_ has helped her so much in her career. It's made her a far better actress, she knows, and she'll have to credit it as one of her better teachers. She's accomplished goals she didn't even know she had, and she's reached dreams she laid out for herself when she was still learning to walk.

Still, all of it compares very little to the wonder that is Lily Weston.

At the time, it made sense for Lily to have her father's surname. (Rachel will also admit that she agreed, in order to protect Lily from the public eye, as she knew, undoubtedly, that she would reach stardom, even if Brody didn't. She was right, in the end). She's sometimes grateful for it but, now that she and Brody are divorced - thank God - she and her daughter carry different surnames.

Technically.

Rachel didn't actually change all her legal documents when they got married - a baby kind of makes everything else unimportant - so it wasn't the biggest hassle to get it all reversed. But, Rachel does use the name when it involves Lily. It's already assumed she's Mrs Weston, and she would rather not correct people, given that Rachel Berry is supposedly a household name.

"We both know Brody wouldn't deign to leave the penthouse _I_ paid for," Rachel says.

"And, you're _definitely_ not still sour about it," Santana teases. "You've got to get over it. You married an asshole. You were bound to. At least you got it out of the way at a young age, so now you can actually find the one you were truly meant for."

Rachel gives her a look.

"At least, that's what Britt says," she explains, shrugging slightly.

Rachel hasn't ever really told Santana - or anyone else, for that matter - about her thoughts that she's actually missed her 'one she's truly meant for.' Santana knows about the guilt - a lot of people do, given the way she's acted on the anniversary over the years - but that's all she knows.

"What if I don't find them?" Rachel asks, sounding oddly vulnerable.

Santana stops her typing and looks at her friend. They've come a long way since they used to be tormentor and tormented, and Santana credits shared trauma for it. The worst thing that could happen to a group of teenagers _happened_, and they were forced to grow from it. And, now, here they are in New York City, having a civil conversation over wine.

It still amazes her.

"Maybe they'll find you," Santana offers, smiling slightly. She looks down at the _iPad_'s screen. "Or, maybe she already did, for all you know."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "There you go again, trying to set me up with everyone who dares to talk to me."

"Somebody has to make the move for you," she says, switching to Rachel's _Facebook_ app on the device. "Let's see... what does this Charlotte Dianna Green look like. I bet she's hot, because that's a fucking hot name."

Rachel leans forward. "Santana," she says. "Please don't start stalking another of Lily's friend's mothers."

Santana swats her hands away when she tries to reach for the tablet. "All I'm saying is that you wasted years with that horrible _man_ when you could have been getting lady love all along," she says. "I'm _so_ glad you came to your senses."

Rachel puffs out a breath. "Please can you _not_ do what you want to do, right now," she says. "The woman is probably happily married with her two and a half children and white picket fence."

"She's not happy," Santana declares. "Come on, does she _sound_ happy? I'm pretty sure you read the same email I did. She's _so_ not happy."

"Santana."

"Let's just look at her," the Latina offers, typing the name into the search bar. A moment later, she frowns. "Well, okay, maybe we shouldn't check _Facebook_."

"Why?"

"There are like a thousand of them," she says. "Popular name."

"Please can you stop."

"Maybe if I put in the Dianna," she says. "Do you think that'll help?"

Rachel watches as she does just that, and comes up with nothing. "Maybe she doesn't have _Facebook_," Rachel offers.

"_Everyone_ has _Facebook_," Santana immediately counters. "Even my _abuela_ has _Facebook_."

Rachel giggles softly. "You're not going to find her," she says.

"I'm going to find her," she promises. "She exists somewhere."

Rachel shakes her head. "Well, you can do that on your own time," she says. "I thought we were replying to her email?"

"We should ask her to prove if she's really who she says she is," Santana says, almost bouncing in her seat. "How do we know she's really this chick's mother? She could be some stalker, just making things up to get to you, for all you know."

Rachel gives pause at this, and then frowns. "I don't think so, San," she says. "I received an email from Lily's camp counsellor, and she mentioned this exact thing."

Santana hums. "So, how do you want to reply to her?" he asks. "What are you going to tell her?"

Rachel slides the _iPad_ towards her and reads what Santana has already drafted. Her eyes widen, and then she laughs loudly. "You're a sick individual, did you know that?"

Santana flips her off. "She could be the hottest thing since sliced bread, and you don't even know."

Rachel immediately deletes what Santana's written. "This is so crass; I don't even know what to say to you, right now," she says. "You're a married woman. I thought you outgrew this."

Santana just grins at her, and then sighs dramatically. "Fine," she says. "Be boring in your email. Watch. She's not going to email you back."

Rachel, ever the mature one, sticks out her tongue at her, and then proceeds to draft her reply.

**To: ****charlottediannagreen  
****From: ****rachel_weston1993  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 3 August 2023**

_Dear Charlie,_

_Your email did catch me by surprise, but I suppose it's a relief to hear from you. I also received an email about this from Delia, which I was unable to reply to until yours arrived. I've since reiterated that they keep a closer eye on them (I would even suggest watching them constantly, because Lily is a sneaky one). _

_As for Ohio. You're allowed to be accusatory (even though it didn't come across that way, I assure you), because I'm convinced it's my fault. We have family there that we haven't seen in quite some time, and Lily requested we visit before school starts and I may have been a little too determined with my refusal to indulge her in any conversation about it. I think my lack of interest just fuelled hers, and she's probably managed to turn it into an adventure for the both of them._

_I'll be happy to hear what you suggest we do to handle this. I also agree that letting them know that we know isn't the smartest move here. They might accelerate their plans. (Wow. They really do sound like terrorists, don't they?)_

_Hope to hear from you, as well._

_Regards,  
__Rachel_

"Jesus," Santana says when she reads it over. "At _least_ throw in some flirting. You sound like the most boring human on earth. And, fuck, what is with this vocabulary? Do you want to turn her off before you even get started?"

"Santana," she complains, protecting the tablet from Santana's intervention. "I'm not _flirting_ with the woman. She could be in, like, Maryland, for all we know."

"So?"

"Santana."

"You are literally the most _not_ adventurous person I know," she huffs, relaxing into her seat again. "She's not going to email you back."

"Just you watch," Rachel challenges, just as she sends the email.

"Oh, I will."

* * *

It takes three days to get a reply from Charlie.

In that time, Rachel receives two standing ovations, a bill from her ex-husband for something she's most definitely not paying for and another email from Delia, who claims that she suspects the girls have started accumulating food for their supposed trip to Ohio. If Rachel weren't so unsettled by her daughter's desire to get to Lima, she would probably marvel at her ingenuity.

But, well, no.

Rachel is about ready to get into her car and drive to fetch her daughter this instant. How dare Lily even entertain such an idea? She knows better. Rachel has taught her _better_, so this shouldn't even be a thing.

Maybe it was Beth's influence, Rachel thinks, almost cynically. She _is_ older, but Rachel knows Lily has a dominant personality - she's Rachel's daughter, after all. If Beth is shy, then it makes sense that she would give in to Lily's grand ideas.

Rachel also receives a text from Santana that says, _The woman doesn't exist. She's a fucking ghost_, which just makes Rachel laugh. She can just imagine Santana driving herself crazy with her inability to find this mystery woman.

Rachel replies with, _Get back to work. I don't pay taxes for ADAs to sit around stalking people_. It's almost inevitable she gets cussed out after that, but it was so worth it.

So, when she receives Charlie's reply, Rachel isn't sure what to expect. She has to admit she's curious about how this entire thing is going to play out, even though she's constantly in a state of stress about it. She's managed to channel it into her performances, but she knows it's going to catch up with her if she doesn't get this resolved soon.

Oh, Lily is in _so much trouble_ when she get's back.

Rachel opens the email when she gets to the theatre, slipping into her dressing room to wait for makeup and hair to arrive. Until then, she has a few minutes alone, that she's going to put to good use.

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: charlottediannagreen  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 6 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Rachel (I hope it's okay that I call you Rachel),_

_Ah. The age-old 'my parent said no, so I'm going to do it anyway, and without them.' Well, it seems our kids have that in common. Though, to be honest, this behaviour is very unlike Beth. I like to think I've taught her the dangers of even attempting such a thing, but one can't really account for stubbornness, now can we? She definitely inherited that from me._

_That makes sense, then. Going to Ohio to see family is far better than going just for the fun of it. Still, they shouldn't be planning to go at all. I assume Delia informed you of the food situation. (I want to commend them for being smart about it, but I'm caught between anger and anxiety at this point). I have half a mind to drive up there and bring her home before she can do anything stupid._

_As for what to do. My daughter is unpredictable (that, she definitely got from her father), so any number of things could happen if we play our hand. I've asked Delia to remind the collective group that they aren't allowed to leave the camp. I also may have suggested coming up with some kind of spooky story about the woods, which is apparently already a thing. Let's hope they can keep the terrorists contained. (Though, if it's treated anything like the Forbidden Forest, then we're really in for it)._

_I'll keep you posted on new developments._

_Kind regards,  
__Charlie_

Rachel can't be sure why, but she finds herself smiling at the end of the email. She immediately forwards it to Santana, already knowing what the Latina is going to say. They've spent so much time together over the years that she's pretty sure they could probably think for the other. Brittany might be Santana's wife, but Rachel is her... person, as it were.

It _still_ amazes Rachel.

Almost predictably, Rachel's phone buzzes in her hand, indicating a text from Santana.

**Lopez**: _Dude. I think I take it back. She can't be the hottest thing since sliced bread, because the woman is obviously a nerd... WHO DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST._

Rachel just laughs, even as she types out her reply.

**Berry**: _She's real, San. You just suck at finding people. Also, I think it's kind of cute._

**Lopez**: _Gag. You two definitely deserve each other._

**Berry**: _What do I say?_

**Lopez**: _Oh, so, now you want my advice..._

Rachel just rolls her eyes and doesn't reply as she starts on her reply to Charlie. There's an unfamiliar part of her that feels slightly excited by the prospect of continuing to talk to this strange woman. She doesn't even know what she's supposed to say, but she's going to say _something_.

**To: ****charlottediannagreen  
****From: ****rachel_weston1993  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 6 August 2023**

_Dear Charlie,_

_Rachel is perfect. I just jumped to calling you Charlie, which I also hope is okay. _

_I'll admit that it's unlike Lily as well. We actually live in New York, so there's a lot involved in making sure we all stay safe. I'm thinking that all the fresh, unpolluted air has got to her head, and she's just running with it. Stubbornness will be our downfall (it's one of my traits, as well). _

_I've actually informed my family of the situation - some were amused and some not - but I'm hoping they won't actually have to be on the lookout for two adolescent girls in the near future. I had exactly the same thought of driving there and just plucking her out of the entire situation. I'm convinced she'll end up hating me, so I'm trying not to hover as much as I usually do. It's difficult not to do when she's literally my entire life._

_I hope they take it more seriously than the Potter crew do. Though, I should admit that I'm having a little too much fun thinking up all the interesting ways I'm going to ground her and take away all her favourite things for even thinking of doing such a thing. Does that make me a bad mom? I feel as if it does._

_Looking forward to it. _

_Regards,  
__Rachel_

It's odd, Rachel thinks, that she suddenly feels anxious once she's hit send. It's nothing she's felt before with other people - other _men_ \- and it merely solidifies what she's felt and known since before the divorce - not that Brody will ever know that. She knows Santana's words are playing into her mind, but it's difficult to ignore that she and this Charlie haven't even exchanged a handful of emails, and Rachel can already feel herself being _charmed_.

It's not as if Rachel hasn't been with other women before.

Post-divorce was an interesting time for all of them, but especially Rachel. She was still young, and still figuring out some very important things about herself.

Women were a big part of it.

And Lily.

Always, Lily.

She's always been the most important, and that's always going to remain true. Any potential suitor who doesn't understand that isn't worth Rachel's breath, and Rachel doesn't usually waste her time in weening out all the undesirables by informing them of her child rather early on.

Some of them, though, already know, because she's Rachel Berry and, despite the secrecy surrounding her private life, Lily's existence is known by some.

And, when it comes to Charlie, she already knows about Lily.

Not that Rachel is even actually entertaining any of Santana's ideas that there's remotely anything to be found between the two women. Even if Rachel is uncomfortably intrigued by whoever exists on the other end of this email thread, she's received no indication that Charlie would even be interested.

Rachel actually really wants Santana to find Charlie, just because she's curious to know what she looks like.

With a sigh, Rachel sets her phone on her dresser and starts to get ready for her upcoming show. It's all routine by now. She's been playing Fanny Brice in _Funny Girl_ for a little over seven months now, and she's already won a Tony for her performance.

In terms of her fame, Rachel has attempted to remain under the radar. Her social media presence is limited and her public appearances are scheduled as necessary. She did a limited tour for her first album, and her second one has been in the works for a full two years now. Her manager, Irene Mellenkamp, intends to get her in the studio as soon as her contract runs out on Fanny.

Rachel, admittedly, prefers the stability of Broadway. She likes to know that, come rain or shine, she knows where she has to be at least eight times a week. The steady schedule also allows her to plan hers and Lily's lives better.

Time has never been her friend.

There just isn't enough of it.

A knock on her door draws her attention, and she has just enough time to school her features into something pleasant as the door opens to reveal the people who are paid to make her look the part.

All she has to do it play it.

* * *

Rachel doesn't get a reply until early the next morning when she's working out on her elliptical in her home gym. She employs a personal trainer who comes to the apartment three times a week, but she mainly uses the elliptical for nostalgic purposes.

It also helps with her stress, which has skyrocketed since Lily's been gone.

Rachel reads the email when she's sipping at her fresh smoothie at the breakfast bar in her impressive kitchen that she only really uses when Lily is around.

Otherwise, there's no use, really. She's learned, through the years, that there's no fun in cooking for one.

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: charlottediannagreen  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 7 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Rachel,_

_By all means, call me Charlie. Everyone else does. _

_New York, huh? I've never been, but I've heard it's a lovely place, even with its crime hotspots. I reckon the beauty - can grey cities be considered beautiful? - makes up for all of the dangers. I imagine you and Lily are well-versed in what's required to stay safe._

_We're suburb people here, which also has its own dangers, I suppose, but Beth is now old enough to walk home from school with her friends. I almost had a panic attack when she first brought it up, and my mother had a good laugh at my expense. How rude is that._

_Still, we've all actually attended a few self-defence classes together, just in case. I can throw a pretty nice right hook, and Beth always seems to go for the shins (it hurts almost as much as childbirth, in case you were wondering). She enjoyed the classes so much that she's been taking Karate since she was nine. So, you know, if our kids end up doing this stupid thing they're planning - which, really, I'll sue that Camp Vega if anything actually happens - mine can probably hold her own in a fight._

_It's nice to know I'm not the only mom who hovers. The other ones I'm around are generally older than me, and are on to their second or third kids, which really means they're less careful because they've already done it before. _

_I don't mean to pry, but I get the feeling you're also young - if the 1993 in your email address hasn't given you away. Based on my calculations, you were about nineteen when Lily was born. I was seventeen when I had Beth, and it was about the scariest thing to happen to me. So, from one young mother to another: good for you. I don't know you, but I like to think you've done something of which you should be proud. Just thought I would let you know._

_Wow. That got deep very quickly. Sorry about that._

_Definitely. I'm certain Harry would have held his wedding ceremony in the Forbidden Forest if he were so inclined. You're not alone there. I've been thinking up ways to make Beth burn, and the best I can come up with is sending her to church with my mother every day. If ever I want her to hate me, that's definitely a sure way to do it._

_And, no, it doesn't make you a bad mom. Believe me, I've known bad ones, and I think you're doing all right._

_Kind regards,  
__Charlie_

After she's finished reading, there's a long moment where Rachel considers if Santana could actually be right. This strange woman is willingly engaging her in conversation, and it has to be for a reason. Maybe she really doesn't have anyone to talk to, and Rachel is, technically, in her age group, so she's supposed to understand.

Charlie hasn't really mentioned anything about a husband or a boyfriend.

Well, neither has Rachel.

There's nobody to mention.

It takes Rachel close to an hour to draft a suitable reply, which, once again, makes her heart beat that bit faster. She remembers feeling something similar when she was still a teenager, and there was a certain blonde who captured her head and heart without ever even trying.

Rachel doesn't actively think about Quinn, but, sometimes, unwittingly, the girl pops into Rachel's head, and it catches her off guard enough to render her mute.

Like right now.

Rachel clenches her jaw at the memories. The last time she saw Quinn, the girl was in tears, having just had her entire world blown apart because the first thing Rachel did when she learned about the true paternity of her baby was tell Finn.

She did it, not really thinking about how it would affect Quinn, which she now knows was selfish and immature.

If Rachel had been older, she likes to think she would have spoken to Quinn first, and tried to help her face the truth. She stands by her belief that Finn deserved to know, but she definitely should have handled it better.

They all should have.

Even all these years later, Rachel still hasn't fully dealt with it. She would probably have to return to Lima to get the kind of closure she's sure she doesn't deserve. She knows some of the others have moved on, but she still holds onto _something_.

Rachel carries guilt. So does Santana.

But, at least, the two of them have managed to build lives for themselves, despite it.

Finn _hasn't_.

He tried, bless him, but the fact that he lost both his best friend and his (ex-)girlfriend that way, so soon after he wished them gone, has plagued him through everything he's attempted to do. Rachel knows he joined the army, but was discharged soon after. Last she heard - from Kurt - is that he's working with Burt in his garage.

His is a promising future that was lost right alongside Noah and Quinn's.

With a sigh, Rachel presses send on her phone, and then attempts to go about her day as best she can, with all this melancholy sitting heavily on her brain.

**To: ****charlottediannagreen  
****From: ****rachel_weston1993  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 7 August 2023**

_Dear Charlie,_

_Well, I'm honoured to be part of the 'everyone,' though my curiosity is definitely piqued. Has Charlie always been your nickname? It's a far cry from Charlotte, when said out loud._

_I guess one could say NYC is an ugly kind of beautiful. My best friend, excuse my crassness, refers to it as 'piss pretty,' which I think is apt. Manhattan can be gorgeous, though. You should definitely visit. I'm certain Beth will love it._

_I grew up in the suburbs. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing Lily a disservice by raising her in the city, but she seems to love it. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by her desire to learn more about where I come from. For reasons I've been unable to tell her, my childhood town doesn't hold particularly fond memories for me, and she's just too young to understand that._

_I don't think anything can hurt more than childbirth. It's one of the reasons I've sworn off having another kid. If my potential future spouse wants a child, she can carry it herself. There is no other human being coming out of this body._

_Believe me, I get that. I always get the feeling the other women are judging me because I'm so young. I'll willingly admit that I don't know everything about parenting, and I've been doing the best I can. The books and research only help so much, because this is the kind of job that you learn with experience. Nothing written about childcare can possibly prepare you for how it feels to experience your kid's firsts with her._

_You're right in one, Charlie. I was a freshman in college when I had Lily. I came to New York with big dreams, and I got lost__ in an older boy who screamed of mystery. I'm careful by nature, but I did a few reckless things as I adjusted to college life, and I ended up with a positive pregnancy test._

_It's terrifying. Unplanned and somewhat alone, I cried for five days straight. My best friend had to force-feed me, and I was dragged to the doctor for confirmation. It makes you reevaluate everything, doesn't it? All my dreams just started to pale in comparison, and it was probably the most liberating and terror-inducing thing to decide to keep her._

_Good for you, too. You should also be proud. I don't think I could have handled it if I were still in high school when this happened to me, and you're very brave._

_Don't worry. I appreciate profound conversations, and I'm finding that you're rather easy to talk to._

_I'm going to take your word for it that I'm not a bad mom. I'm sorry you have experience with anything less than the best of mothers. I'll admit I've had a few experiences myself._

_Gosh, that's the greatest idea. I would get Lily to agree to anything and everything if I forced her to go to temple every day. It's genius._

_Here that, Charlie? You're a genius._

_Regards,  
__Rachel _

Rachel's nervousness makes her clean. Scrub until her hands are practically raw.

The apartment is already spotless, but she needs something to keep her busy while she awaits Charlie's response. She debated endlessly if it was too early to divulge her sexual orientation, but Rachel is trying to be open these days, and she just decided to go for it. It wasn't anything direct, so she hopes she can get away with it.

Charlie has no idea who she is - God, she really hopes she doesn't try to Google her or something ridiculous like that, because she would get the strangest hits, really - and Rachel wants to use that to her advantage. Hopefully, Charlie will give her some indication of where she stands, and then Rachel can decide whether or not to dedicate any attention on wooing this complete stranger... who's never even been to New York or continue to carve out some kind of friendship.

It's not lost on Rachel that Charlie didn't actually say _where_ she lives. Rachel doesn't think she does it to be extra careful, but there is a part of Rachel that's incredibly curious. It would be nice to know what kind of distance they're going to be working with here.

At around lunchtime, Rachel receives a call from Santana, telling her to go over to her office before she heads to the theatre, because she has news about Charlie.

"Why can't you just tell me over the phone?" Rachel asks, sifting through her mail on the kitchen island.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You just want to show off to your colleagues that you know me again, don't you?"

Santana huffs. "Just get your ass over here, dammit," she grumbles, and then hangs up.

Just to be spiteful, Rachel takes her time. She takes a nice, long bath, during which she contemplates life, once again, and dreams up a life where she's happy and in love with a woman who sees only her, and not her fame or her money.

A woman who loves her daughter.

Before she has a chance to leave to go see Santana, Charlie sends a reply, and Rachel's heart leaps into her throat. She gets the feeling this could be make or break for them, and it's got her fingers trembling and her breathing ragged.

What if she's homophobic? God, what is Rachel supposed to do then? Not only would she have ruined her own chances at friendship, but she might have ruined Lily's. Her daughter would never forgive her for something like that, because Lily obviously really likes this Beth, if she's willing to go on this dangerous adventure with her.

Still.

Rachel is a basket of nerves as she opens the email on her _iPad_, suddenly unsure what to expect.

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: charlottediannagreen  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 7 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Rachel,_

_If I'm being honest, I don't think the name Charlotte suits me, all that much. My mom likes to claim I come across as... badass, which is where Charlie was born. I prefer it. People get a little surprised when they learn how delicate my actual name is._

_We should visit this piss pretty NYC, huh? Is that an invitation?_

_Speaking as someone who also grew up in the suburbs, I don't think you're taking anything away from Lily by living in the city. I think experiences are always good. I was sheltered quite a bit, and it manifested in some of the worst ways. This way, your kid gets to learn all sorts of things._

_Not that there's anything wrong with the suburbs. I just make an active effort to make sure Beth knows a lot about other people and other cultures beyond our own. Her father, while not practicing, was Jewish, and I'm a Christian, so I've tried to immerse her in a lot of religion (even other ones), just because I want her to be able to make her own decisions about Faith. If it's one thing I learned from my own upbringing; it's that shoving the Bible down your kid's throat can be disastrous._

_My pregnancy was a very stressful time for me. A lot of things happened and, I think, given the chance, I would probably want to do it again. Get pregnant, I mean. Have another baby. Just to have a better experience. I was so young and so scared, and I want to know what it feels like to want my baby from the get-go. I also just really like children. I guess, then, with that in mind, you and I are perfect for each other, aren't we?_

_Other mothers can be really awful. They have their own little cliques, and they're so passive aggressive. A lot of them aren't working, so they really don't have anything else to do, other than gossip and judge. But, they don't know what it's like for us, so I think you should just keep doing what you're doing, okay? Forget them._

_Mysterious, bad boys seem to be a weakness for us both. Beth's father was a mistake of epic proportions, and I paid heavily for it. So did he. He made the mistake of wanting to love someone who wouldn't be able to love him back, and I made the mistake of wishing things were different with him. Beth knows, at least, that her father loved her - because I know he did - but my heart breaks because they were never able to meet. He died young, and I can't seem to be able to forgive myself for it._

_I think that's really as deep as it gets, Rachel. I normally don't talk about these kinds of things. What are you doing to me?_

_I'll tell you about my experience one day, but I think that's enough unloading. You're not a bad mom. I'd wager you're an awesome mom, and Lily knows it, even if she won't necessarily admit it._

_Just a few days, and you've already learned of my superior intellect. This is already going better than expected._

_By the way, Delia sent another email that preparations seem to have slowed, and she thinks it's because of the upcoming talent show. They're busy with rehearsals, and I guess they might have forgotten to plot their escape. It's amazing what a little music and dance will do._

_Kind regards,  
__Charlie_

There's no mistaking it.

Charlie is definitely flirting with her.

It's the first thing that pops into her head when she's read the email another two times. Charlie told her a lot - more than Rachel ever anticipated - and she finds herself wanting to know more. She wants to know everything about this woman, who exists somewhere in this world, and she doesn't really know how to go about doing that.

She's dated online before. It was a cathartic experience, but Rachel is a physical being. She likes a person's presence, and one of her love languages is touch. Nothing worked out in the long-run, and she wonders about whatever she's starting with this strange woman.

Who Santana is convinced doesn't exist.

"She's a fucking ghost," Santana informs Rachel the second the diva enters her office a little over an hour later. "I'm not even kidding, Berry. The woman doesn't exist."

Rachel doesn't believe that for a second.

"Or, if she does, she's not in any databases," Santana says.

Rachel's eyes widen. "You actually looked her up? I'm pretty sure that's illegal, San."

Santana doesn't even look apologetic. "I had to," she says. "Background Checks on any of your potential partners is vital after that fiasco with the whole gigolo turned husband, and this woman doesn't exist, as far as I know."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Doesn't that mean she's not a criminal?" she says. "Also, are you checking in other states, because she's not from New York, you know? It's doubtful you're going to find her."

Santana sighs. "Okay, I'll concede to that," she says. "But, something still isn't right, Rach."

And, the sheer fact that Santana uses her shortened first name really should clue Rachel in to how serious this could turn out to be, but it doesn't.

It really, really doesn't.

Rachel has found something in Charlie, and she's going to run with it.

Stubbornness is hereditary after all.


	2. Destinations

**Part Two**

**Destinations**

* * *

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: charlottediannagreen  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 15 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Rachel,_

_There's this new book I've been reading, because I obviously have too much time on my hands now that my daughter is gone (and still planning an escape to Ohio). It's about a woman who figures out her husband is cheating on her, and has her entire world thrown completely upside down, because she was convinced she was happy. When she realises she's actually not, she now has to figure out what it even means to be happy. _

_There's a line that goes, 'lights are brighter than I remember them being. I can't remember if I used to cover my eyes, but I'm definitely looking now.'_

_What I'm trying to tell you, Rachel, is that I thought I was somewhat happy, too, but I'm just now figuring out I was wrong. The lights are brighter. They have been since we really started talking and, as terrifying as this all is, I'm not covering my eyes._

_And, now that I've totally embarrassed myself, I'm going to tell you the reason I'm really sending this email (given that, technically it's now your turn to reply). Apparently, according to Delia, our terrorists have gathered maps for their upcoming trip. I don't know why they would need maps when Beth has an emergency cellphone, but I'm beyond questions at this point. It seems our children haven't given up on their plans, and I think we have reason to be worried._

_Beth keeps talking about the Talent Show, so we can rest assured they'll wait until after that to try to make a run for it, so we have a few days to decide on our next course of action. I'm willing to suggest they get one of the counsellors to watch them twenty-four-seven, just because I'm starting to feel a little paranoid. Call me crazy._

_What do you think?_

_How are you today, by the way? Especially the tooth. It's my professional doctor opinion that you see a dentist. Exposed nerves can be extremely painful, and it's not the kind of thing that will just go away with time. Go see a dentist, Rachel. I'll even recommend ones in the Manhattan area, if you'd like. Stop being so stubborn._

_You're cute when you ramble about music, you know? I'm definitely going to check out this Patti LuPone you seem to love, as long as you listen to some of that Ludovico Einaudi I suggested. His compositions are magical. I listened a lot to him when I was pregnant with Beth, and he helped me get through some of the tougher months of my life. _

_I think it's amazing what music can do. It has such power, and I like to think I've passed on my love for it to Beth. She's a quiet being, in general, but she loves to sing. Just to herself, you know. Never for others, so I'm quite proud of her for taking this chance and performing in the talent show. I actually have plans to drive up there to watch it._

_And, okay, this is where I get awkward and fumble through asking if you would care to join me. Are you planning on attending? Maybe we could sit together or something. _

_Okay. I'm going to go save lives now._

_Regards,  
__Charlie_

_P.S. This is my phone number, by the way. Maybe we can text. Emails are a little too time-consuming for my on-the-go job. No pressure, though._

Rachel is still in a bit of pain from her trip to the dentist when she sees Charlie's email, which automatically brings a smile to her face. Bad idea. She winces as her muscles pull on her gums, and she closes her eyes tightly.

Still, it's another email from Charlie, and she's unable to stop the warmth from spreading through her body, just at the thought that Charlie has been thinking about her.

Before this email, they've just barely touched on what is so obviously happening between them. It's been only a few days, but they've exchanged nearly seventy emails, their number picking up once they established that they were both interested in whatever they have, maybe, going on.

They don't really talk about it. It's there, lingering in the backs of their minds, but Rachel doesn't directly allude to it, and this is the first time Charlie has even touched on anything she's feeling when it comes to this friendship/relationship they're building.

Rachel actually learned Charlie was a doctor by accident. She made the mistake of mentioning her sudden toothache - that was painful enough to make singing extremely uncomfortable - and Charlie went on a tangent to figure out what kind of pain it was and where it was and Rachel was overwhelmed by how specific and particular she was, even asking if Charlie was a dentist.

_A doctor, actually_, Charlie said, _a paediatric surgeon in training, to be specific. I told you I like children_.

And, okay, Rachel has no idea what Charlie looks like, but she suddenly got loads hotter in her head.

_You save children. That's like the kicker, Charlie. If you didn't have me sold before, I can assure you I'm buying._

The emails have practically taken over her life. When she's not on stage or eating or with any of her friends or reading scripts her manager sends her, she's talking to Charlie.

Their conversations haven't all been sunshine and daisies. Charlie revealed that her parents initially kicked her out when they found out she was pregnant, and Rachel spent the night in tears, crying for a teenage blonde lost to the world and for a faceless woman somewhere in the world who had to go through the same thing.

_It was a complicated situation. I was as terrified as a person can get, and I did some things I'm not proud of. I lied and cheated, and all I ever wanted was to be told that everything was going to be okay. Eventually, my mother and I managed to patch things up, and now she's very involved in Beth's life. I don't think I could have ever done any of this without her. I haven't seen my father since before Beth was born, and I definitely don't lose any sleep over it._

Rachel wishes things were different for Charlie, just because she believes everyone deserves to know the undying, unconditional love of a parent. It's what she tells her anyway, and then proceeds to reveal some things about her own experience with Shelby.

_I'm adopted. I have a birth mother, whom I met when I was sixteen. Don't get me wrong, I adore my parents and I love them very much, but there was always a part of me that was curious about my biological mother, you know? She was... a disappointment, in the sense that she eventually decided she wanted nothing to do with me. She thought it would be better if we remained friends, and rather admired each other from afar. I don't think I'll ever understand her because, since having Lily, I can't imagine a second of my life not wanting to know her. In any capacity._

Charlie called Shelby stupid, because _who wouldn't want to know you, Rachel_? And then she confessed to considering giving Beth up for adoption. But, then, she lost Beth's father, and she knew she could never do it.

_Beth is the last part of him the world really has. She's proof he existed, and I know he would never forgive me. __Frankly, I'm sure I wouldn't forgive myself_.

Rachel's pretty sure she could be the one.

Santana laughs in her face when she first makes that confession, but there's nothing Rachel can realistically say without revealing the content of their emails. She feels it would be a betrayal to Charlie if she did now, so she refrains.

Whatever.

Rachel knows what she's feeling, and she definitely wouldn't listen to just anyone when it comes to her health. Charlie is special to her, and Santana is going to have to catch on eventually. The mere fact that Rachel even went to the dentist is enough for Santana to know this is something serious. Without even trying, Charlie holds this power over Rachel, and that's that about that.

It's largely unprecedented. Rachel is... a catch, without blowing her own horn. She knows she's somewhat attractive. She's rich and famous. She has a daughter, which has proven to turn some people away, but she wouldn't necessarily have trouble meeting people. It's just that those people are usually in it for all the reasons she knows they would be.

With Charlie, it's different.

With Charlie, Rachel gets to be exactly who she is without having to deal with the preconceived ideas about who she _possibly_ is. Maintaining the secret of her identity is paramount, and she thinks she would know if Charlie happened to _Google_ the names Rachel and Lily next to each other. People have a way of not being able to hide their knowledge of her, and she really hopes Charlie respects that boundary.

Which is largely hypocritical when Santana has made it her mission to find out who Charlotte Dianna Green is. It worries Rachel a little that the woman doesn't seem to exist, but she's trying not to think too much about it. Santana's theory that she's some kind of 'bot' is wrong. Charlie's real. Rachel just knows it. She doesn't know how or why she knows it, but she does, and that's enough for her.

But, not for Santana.

"She could be a serial killer."

Rachel rolls her eyes as she searches through an array of clothing for something suitable to wear to the event Kurt is throwing in honour of his most recent fashion line. It's a launch of sorts, and Kurt wants her wearing something exclusively made for her, so he sent over a few outfits from which she needs to choose.

Or, for Santana to choose, apparently.

"That one."

Rachel retrieves the garment bag, studying the white number through the clear slats. "Are you sure?" she asks, slightly hesitant. She doesn't know what the colour white is supposed to say about her. She's very far from innocent, she thinks.

But, then, Santana says, "Marcie likes white," and it all makes sense.

Even though Rachel knows the answer, she still asks, "Who's Marcie?" which earns her nothing more than a scowl from the Latina. "I _told_ you she's not my type," she adds with a sigh. "At all."

"Is it because she's chipper than you are?"

"I am not... chip?" She pauses. "Is that even how I'm supposed to use the word?"

"Can you tell me this has nothing to do with Charlie?" Santana presses.

And, if she's being honest, Rachel actually can't. "Look, I don't expect you to understand, but Charlie and I have this... connection. I _know_ there are things about her that seem... shady, but the parts of her she's chosen to reveal are telling. I've been hesitant with details as well, and I'm trusting her just as much as she's trusting me. Please stop trying to make me betray her."

Santana just stares at her from where she's perched on the end of Rachel's bed. "Dude."

Rachel can barely look at her.

"Please don't tell me you've actually gone and fallen for the woman?"

Rachel hums. "What colour shoes do you think I should wear with the dress, then?"

"Berry."

"I might need a jacket," Rachel continues. "It feels like it's going to be a chilly night."

"Rachel."

She sighs. "I don't know what you want me to say, Santana," she says. "Charlie seems to understand me. I really do like her. And, yes, I'm aware it's been like three weeks or something ridiculous like that, but there's something there, and... aren't you the one who told me to put myself out there?"

"In the _real_ world," Santana says, sounding exasperated. "With _real_ people."

Rachel groans. "She's real!"

"Ask her to send a picture of herself," Santana counters.

"But, then, I'll have to do the same," Rachel says; "And I'm not willing to do that yet. Please will you just drop it. I don't want to talk about Charlie with you tonight. We're supposed to be going to this event to support Kurt, and the last thing he needs is the two of us in the middle of a disagreement."

"And, what exactly would we be disagreeing about?"

Rachel absolutely hates when she gets that sick, superior tone, and it take all her willpower not to snap back. "We're disagreeing about the fact that I may have actually found some semblance of happiness for the first time since I was in high school, and you seem determined to ruin it with your crazy theories and negative attitude."

Santana glares at her. "You're being reckless," she says dismissively. "One of us needs to be the logical, responsible here, and it's breaking the laws of physics that it has to be me where this friendship is concerned."

"Santana."

She sighs. "Fine," she huffs. "Fine, I'll drop it. For tonight. But, honestly, Rachel, you can't go around falling for complete strangers. There is literally _nothing_ to be found on this woman, and that _must_ raise all sorts of flags for you. _Come on_. You're not this naïve."

Rachel traps her bottom lip between her teeth. "Look," she says as calmly as she can manage. "If Charlie is indeed hiding something, then she is. I've accepted that. I trust her enough that she'll tell me whatever it is in her own time. Can you at least give me that? If it's something big, she'll tell me, but we have only been talking for mere _weeks_, so it'll take time, don't you think?"

"My worry is _what_ she is hiding," Santana says. "What if it puts you in danger?"

Rachel, admittedly, has had a similar worry, but she's giving Charlie the benefit of the doubt. Rachel has her own secrets she doesn't want to reveal, and it's Charlie's own secrecy that probably prevents her from prying further into what _Rachel_ isn't telling _her_.

* * *

**Rachel**: _Hey, it's Rachel. Hello! I'm sorry it's taken me this long to text. I had this event to attend last night, which proved to be a bit of a disaster. My best friend has been trying to set me up with this woman for a few weeks now, and she can't seem to accept it when I tell her I'm not interested. At all. So, the night basically consisted of my trying to resist this woman's advances while trying to remain polite (why oh why do I have to be so polite?). But, I'm here, and this is my number, and I hope you're having a good day._

When Rachel sends the message, she's not entirely sure what she's expecting in response, but there's little she can do once it's gone but wait.

Only two minutes, thankfully, and her heart stutters a little.

**Charlie**: _You're not interested_? _At all_?

Rachel almost smiles to herself, because _of course_ that's going to be the one thing on which Charlie picks up.

**Rachel**: _Nope_.

**Charlie**:_ Well, from what you tell me, I'm sure you have a ton of groupies. There must be someone whom you fancy_.

Rachel breathes out slowly, realising this is the part of the conversation where they confirm just what they've been doing. It's now or never, which she realises is about as dramatic as it gets for her when it comes to this relatively anonymous relationship she may or may not be pursuing.

**Rachel**: _As far as I know, she's not a groupie?_

**Charlie**: _Is that your way of telling me you're not actually as famous as you like to think you are?_

Rachel laughs to herself, even though she's a little worried that Charlie might have missed what she was trying to say. Rachel is one of those types of people who needs assurance. It's one of the _many_ reasons she and Brody fell apart. He could never be bothered to tell her what he was feeling (besides the entire her now liking women thing).

Which, she realises, when she's bidding Charlie goodnight a few hours later, isn't going to be much of a problem with this particular woman.

**Charlie**: _I fancy you too, by the way_.

**Charlie**: _Goodnight, Rachel. Sleep well and dream sweetly Xx_

* * *

Falling in love, as it turns out, happens quickly for Rachel.

She shouldn't be surprised - _she's not_ \- but there's an image that Charlie sends of her view while she's sitting on an outdoor hospital bench with her shoes casually crossed on the grass in front of her, and Rachel is a complete goner. Rachel forwards the picture to Santana immediately with the caption: _she's real, she's real!_ like the adult she is, and gets flipped off for her troubles.

Anyway.

Rachel spends the day trying to wrap her head around all these new, _wanted_ feelings, and Charlie doesn't really help her with anything when she gets into her dressing room and finds an email from the woman in her inbox. It catches her a little off guard because they've largely migrated to texting, but she can't escape the thrill that shoots up her spine at merely the sight of Charlie's name. Sometimes, she feels so much like that hopeless teenager she used to be, falling in love for the first time.

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: charlottediannagreen  
****Subject: Just Some Ramblings.  
****Date: 23 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Rachel,_

_I know we've been texting non-stop, but I have a bit of free time (I know, it's a shock to me too, and you should feel very special I'm using it on you instead of catching up on some sleep), so I thought I would actually put it to good use and draft this email before I lose my nerve. I've been wanting to send you something like this for a while, but I'm not really as courageous as I like to think I am. Still, I'm going to try._

_The truth is that I find myself thinking about you more often than I would normally be admitting. I spend my days imagining the way your voice sounds, what you look like, how you smell (in a completely not creepy way, by the way). I find myself wondering about how you're spending your day, and if you're thinking about me too. It sounds a little pathetic now that I read it back._

_What I'm really trying to say is that I haven't felt this way since forever, and definitely not at this intensity._

_My mother, of course, is worried, for reasons I hope to be able to tell you one day. My friends as well. They're mainly the doctors I work with (no time to find a different pool of them, unfortunately), and I can understand why they would be worried. I know I've withheld things from you, and I know you have, too. It's a comfort to me, and I wonder if it's the same for you. I can only hope at this point that the thing you want to hide is not that you're some kind of serial killer._

_Anyway. This is confession time for me._

_First, I'm definitely not a serial killer. (I have lost numerous patients over the years, and I feel each one of their deaths as if I have personally failed them. It's something I work through as best I can, but I accept blame where it is justified, and that has yet to happen in my professional career.)_

_Second. Well. I didn't quite accept my sexuality until I was already in medical school. After Beth's father and after having Beth and trying to juggle all my studies and being a mother, dating was always the furthest thing from my mind for a lot of Beth's formative years. I was too busy and too closed off and a little too paranoid to put myself out there the way my mother repeatedly tells me I deserve. I was also harbouring a broken heart__ from which__ I sometimes think I've never fully recovered. I loved Beth's father in the only way I could, of course, but it was never quite the romantic way he wanted. _

_It was never going to be what I felt for this girl with whom I went to high school._

_I feel like an idiot for even typing it out. Seriously. I've been in therapy for years in order to come to terms with the fact that ship sailed a long, long time ago, and I'll likely never see her again. It's just that all I really want to do is explain to her that the reason I treated her as badly as I did was because she made me feel things I wasn't yet ready to accept. It's a bit cliché, but it's my truth. I hope you won't judge me for it, but I find myself wanting you to know all the parts of me. There are many. The good, the bad and the downright ugly._

_Is that too much? Tell me if it is._

_In medical school, when things started to get clearer about my life and what I may or may not have wanted from it, I was able to unpack everything. Coming out to my mother was terrifying - we're truly religious people - but she eventually took the time to work through it with me, and we have a stronger relationship because of it. I worried so much about what it would mean for Beth, but we live in a... progressive state, I suppose. We're in one of the most LGBT-friendly cities, and Beth's never had that worry. Well, not that she's told me, anyway._

_And, it isn't as if there's really been any one woman I've introduced her to. Which, well, I'm beginning to think is about to change, provided that isn't too presumptuous of me. You did agree to sit with me during the Talent Show, and I sincerely hope you're a woman of your word, Rachel Weston._

_I actually can't wait to meet you. It's another thing that's been playing on my mind, and I've been a bit of a distracted mess. When I'm with patients and in the O.R., I'm fine, but, other times, it's as if I'm lost to the world. I even walked into a pole yesterday (don't laugh). I now have a little bump on my forehead for my troubles, so thank you very much._

_At the end of this, I don't know whether I'm going to yell at Beth for forcing our contact or hug the breath out of her for being part of helping me find you. I don't know if I've been able to explain what I've been feeling, but it's in tense. I'm terrified, but I don't want to run from this. Sometimes, it feels as if I've just been waiting for you, and this could be our time. We're nearly there, if that makes sense._

_And... my free time is over. Duty calls. Hope your day is going well, and I'll talk to you later._

_Kind regards,_  
_Charlie_

_P.S. Is it possible to miss someone you've never even met? If not, did I just discover a new feeling in the world? Damn. I AM a genius._

Rachel's tears catch her completely off guard, and she's mortified when her makeup team arrives to find her with puffy, red eyes and wet tracks on her cheeks. "I'm fine," she tries to assure them, waving off their questions. "Really, I'm fine. These are happy tears."

"They don't look like happy tears," Melissa says, sounding skeptical.

Rachel just smiles, and then pulls up her phone to send a single, life-changing text. "I promise they are. They're happy, relieved tears."

**Rachel**: _Hey, I just got your email. I have to work now, but I promise I'll reply properly to it later, but I just wanted to say one thing: I think I love you, too._

* * *

It's a terrifying thing to look at your past self and try to figure out just what you were thinking at the time. Charlie's story hits a little too close to home, and Rachel wonders if this is some way the Universe is trying to _hurt_ her - punish her - for the role she played in the events that led to a very terrible day in Lima history.

No.

As many times as she tells herself she can't think about it that way, sometimes it happens. She can't help it. They can all kid themselves into thinking they've recovered from what can be considered the worst days of their young lives, but they really haven't. Rachel carries it with her every day. Santana does, too. Brittany, who is as light as any other person, is also weighed down by it. Kurt, as well, in his own way.

Finn, in the worst of ways. He once revealed to Rachel, just days before they were scheduled to graduate, that he had wished them dead. He had wished they'd never existed, because then they wouldn't have hurt him this way.

And then they died.

They _died_.

On a normal Wednesday in December in tiny Lima, Ohio, Quinn Fabray, Noah Puckerman and their unborn child died in a car accident while driving home from school, on the afternoon Finn Hudson confronted them both about the news Rachel Berry told him about the paternity of the baby.

It is a truth that has plagued them all for far too many years.

Rachel's last memory of Quinn is sitting with her while she cried in a little alcove in one of the school corridors, offering herself up for retribution for her actions. Quinn did nothing. In fact, she thanked her, her voice small and quiet as she held her hands protectively over the life growing inside of her. Quinn called Rachel brave and herself a coward, and then made a self-depracating joke about how she already knows what it feels like to be kicked out, so she'd save Finn the trouble by doing it herself. It was the first time Rachel really thought about the _after_ and, by the time she opened her mouth to offer up space in her own house, Noah was there.

Rachel's last memory of him is different. For so long, he played at being larger than life, acting as if nothing affected him, but the image of him burned into her brain is not that person. Instead, she sees a _boy_ \- just a boy - with hunched shoulders and an apology on his lips and in his gaze. His eye was already turning blue, and his lip was split from the punches he accepted without reply from Finn, but still he stood there, ready to face the consequences of his actions.

Rachel remembers hearing his voice; hearing him say _Quinn_ with the kind of reverence she wouldn't have associated with him until that very moment. She thinks it surprised Quinn, as well, but she eventually stood and moved towards him, eventually taking his outstretched hand.

Maybe Rachel's memory has romanticised the moment over the years, but she recalls Quinn looking over her shoulder at her as the two of them walked away, making their way through the corridor towards the outdoors. They were almost silhouettes against the bright sun shining through the far doors, and the way the light hit Quinn's face made her look like an angel. Glorious and untouched and smiling this smile that spoke of forgiveness and understanding and apology. And then she turned away, and it was the last time Rachel ever saw either of them.

She learned about the accident from her father, LeRoy, who received a call from Mr Schuester later that night.

There were no survivors.

Russell and Judy Fabray were gone as well, disappeared weeks earlier without anyone noticing, and nobody knew to contact Quinn's sister because nobody knew she even existed, already married with a different name. As a result, Quinn's body was cremated, though Rachel has never known what happened to her ashes, and Noah was buried shortly after, with a small inscription on his tombstone to mark his would-be child's almost-life. It's the only evidence the baby would have even existed beyond the prenatal vitamins and ultrasound pictures Quinn left behind in Finn's house.

Just like that, the Fabray family ceased to exist in Lima, Ohio, and the only people who would truly remember them scattered as soon as they possibly could. They never even made it to Sectionals, it was the worst birthday of Rachel's life, and Glee never could quite recover. Nobody had the will to sing or dance or perform, and it took until the first anniversary of the accident for Rachel to realise it would be rude and unfair to waste her own life doing _nothing_, when Quinn and Noah and Baby Fabray-Puckerman wouldn't even get to _live_.

Which is how Rachel ended up here, sitting on her couch in her cushy New York apartment, ready to confess to someone who is, essentially, a stranger that she once loved a girl too, and she was too much of a coward to say or do anything about it.

And then it was too late.

If Charlie wants Rachel to know her, then Rachel wants the same in return.

**To: ****charlottediannagreen****  
****From: ****rachel_weston1993****  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 23 ****August**** 2023**

_Dear Charlie,_

_I don't know how you'll feel knowing your email left me in tears, but I still have to tell you. Sad, happy tears. Relieved, too, to know I'm not alone in all of this. I've been feeling a mixture of emotions today, to tell you the truth. I'm lucky I'm good at compartmentalising (well, I've improved over the years, because I was a disaster in high school), or work would have been a complete mess. Your words alluded to a time in my life that I should probably forget, but have been unable to._

_Cliché seems to be the word of the day, because there was a girl in high school I secretly had feelings for, as well. I suppose we're more alike than we initially thought. We truly are made for each other, aren't we? I don't really talk about her much, with anyone, because I lost her. Well, we all lost her, but I've felt her loss in ways I can't begin to describe. It seems we've both lost people, too, in different ways. I feel responsible for it in a way that's illogical, I know, but sometimes we can't help what we feel. Like you, I wish I could tell her so many things, but I can't, and I've been working a long time to be okay with that._

_My own sexuality hasn't really been a THING in my life. I spent a lot of time chasing after boys in my youth, and then I met Lily's father as a freshman in college, and, well... he's been a bad decision from the very beginning. The only good thing to come out of that disaster is Lily and I wouldn't trade her for anything. I've been around a lot of LGBT people, so I didn't really have a crisis after the divorce (or, during, when it really started to hit home why nothing really worked out with any of the men and boys I dated). It just kind of happened. Like walking into a new room and going 'oh,' as if you know you've walked into the correct room. It was refreshing, a little terrifying given my career and my daughter, but it's been so freeing in some ways. _

_Not so much in others. I have to admit that I'm still doing a bit of hiding. I'm not exactly publicly out, as it were, but I think I'm getting closer and closer to being okay with being able to do that. I want to be open and free, __particularly now that I have an actual reason to be. (You, in case you were wondering. Just thought I would make myself clear)._

_Dating is difficult. Dating when you're me is even worse, and I think that's why I like what we have here as much as I do. I get to be __just __me, and you get to be just you (hopefully), and we can build this beautiful thing without pretence and without fear. That's what I get out of this, anyway. It makes me happy. You make me happy, and it's both saddening and amazing that I don't think I've felt this way (definitely not at this intensity) since I was fifteen and a certain pretty girl smiled at me._

_If it makes you feel better, I think about you too. A lot. I find myself wanting to talk about you all the time to everyone I come across, but I have to hold my tongue. My best friend has repeatedly told me to be wary of you. She still doesn't believe you exist. She did a _Facebook_ search once, and, well, it seems you don't have _Facebook_. I know you're real. Maybe you hide things the way I do, but the other parts - the good, the bad and the ugly you believe you posses - are real, and I've never wanted to get to know anyone as much as I do you._

_My parents, unfortunately, don't know about you. Or, is it fortunately? They're protective, and I just know what they'll say. These things don't happen. The Universe doesn't work this way. I've done many things in my life, Charlie, and I cannot fathom what it is that has allowed me the opportunity to meet you. I've always believed in fate and destiny - I was an optimistic child for too many years - so I do accept this thing we're doing was always meant to happen. However it plays out, it was always meant for us. Which, maybe, is a little heavy for two people who are just getting to know each other, but it's a feeling I can't quite explain. I get the impression you feel it too._

_We're really doing this entire thing in some kind of order that's probably... not right. I've fallen for you before I've met you, and you're going to meet my daughter before we've even gone on a first date. This is my asking, by the way. I want to take you out, on a date. Please will you let me? (The Talent Show doesn't count.)_

_Say yes._

_It amazes me that I get to see you in two days. _

_Two days._

_Of course, go. Go and save lives._

_Kind regards,_  
_Rachel_

_P.S. It's very possible. It's really the only thing that makes sense._

Once more, once she's sent the email, her heart rate skyrockets, because this is really it. This is the moment they acknowledge that they've been leading to an actual, proper relationship. It hasn't been just innocent flirting or feeling out the waters. They've been headed in this direction since the very beginning. It's terrifying and exciting and Rachel just knows she's invested far too much of herself into this to come out unscathed if it ends up not working out.

It takes three and a half hours for her to get a reply, and it comes in the form of a series of text messages.

**Charlie**: _Sorry. Just got out of surgery. Guess who just saved a life. (I did.)_

**Charlie**: _I'm saying yes. To the date_.

**Charlie**: _I love you, too_.

* * *

**Santana**: _Your pic had a geotag, dumbass. Of course, I was going to run it. She exists, I guess. Text me if you want to know where._

Rachel sucks in a breath, her heart leaping into her throat. Okay, so this isn't exactly what she was expecting out of her evening. If anything, she should be getting ready for bed. She'll be able to pack in the morning, and still make it to Camp Vega with plenty of time to spare.

She's seeing Lily tomorrow.

She's meeting _Charlie_ tomorrow.

**Rachel**: _I told you so._

**Santana**: _You are actually such a child._

**Rachel**: _What made you change your mind?_

**Santana**: _The geotag. I just said. _

**Santana**: _By the way, your robot girlfriend works at Yale New Haven Children's Hospital in Connecticut. Her name is on the website as a surgical resident but, as yet, no staff picture has been identified. I'm still on the lookout._

**Rachel**: _Stop._

**Santana**: _Don't even pretend you don't want to know if she's hot or not. I know you too well for you to start pulling those stunts._

**Rachel**: _I'm being serious._

**Santana**: _I can't hear you._

**Rachel**: _And you claim I'm the child._

There's a short pause in replies, and then Santana says the one thing they're both thinking.

**Santana**: _You know, New Haven isn't all that far away. Something like eighty miles, give or take._

Rachel breathes out slowly, allowing this particular truth to settle over her.

**Rachel**: _Thank you, San._

**Santana**: _Go to sleep._

**Rachel**: _I love you, too :*_

**Santana**: _Whatever. _

* * *

The plan is to leave at noon. Rachel knows she could have flown to Harrisburg, but she decided to drive. It's only about three hours by car. She wants to be authentic, she told Santana, and so that's why the Lopez-Pierce couple have turned it into a bit of a road trip for the three of them. Rachel suspects they want to see Lily almost as much as she does.

That's the plan, anyway.

What is _not_ part of the plan is Rachel being rudely woken by the sound of her blaring phone. She fumbles in the dark for the stupid device and answers without bothering to check the Caller ID. She's irritated that _someone_ has interrupted her sleep and her ire is paramount when she snaps a harsh "What?" into the phone.

There's a beat of silence, and then a voice says, "Rachel," and Rachel is suddenly sure she believes in ghosts. She pulls the phone back to see that it's Charlie who's calling her. Charlie.

_Charlie_.

Rachel sucks in a breath that does nothing to calm her racing heart. They've never talked on the phone before. Why is she calling now? Why is she calling so early? Why is she calling at all?

When it hits her, Rachel jerks upright and brings the phone back to her ear. "Charlie," she says. "Sorry. I - I - I'm terrible when I just wake up."

"That's okay," Charlie says, and her voice sounds strained. "I just, well, I'm sure you'll hear about it in the next few minutes, but I thought you would like to know that our daughters have gone missing."

Rachel feels her blood run cold.

"Well, they've disappeared from their bunks, I think they're calling it," Charlie continues, and there's something about her voice that pricks at Rachel's skin. "Packed up their things and took off in the middle of the night. Delia says they managed to track them to the bus station, but, well, they were obviously too late. I'm sure they're halfway to Ohio as we speak."

Rachel feels deeply unsettled, but Charlie is -

"You sound very calm about this," Rachel can't help pointing out.

"I can assure you I'm not," Charlie says, and her voice cracks. "Beth - Beth doesn't know. I've never told her. She _can't_ know, and I - I don't really know how I'm supposed to protect her when she's essentially walking into the place we were forced to run from."

"What?"

Charlie makes a strangled sound. "I'm sorry," she says. "Look, I just wanted to ask you where they're going. Do you have an address? I need to find Beth before - " she stops. "I just need to find her."

Someone says something in the background, and Charlie's voice says, "Call Marshall Williams then, Mom. Tell him we've already left."

Rachel waits, confused beyond comprehension.

When Charlie is back, she sounds both agitated and distracted. "Rachel, where are they going?" she asks.

Rachel stutters. "My parents' house, probably."

"Where's that?"

"In Lima."

There's the longest silence imaginable, and Rachel questions if the call dropped before she hears Charlie speak again. "Lima. Lima, Ohio. Your name is Rachel and you're from Lima, Ohio."

Rachel blinks. "Yes."

More silence. Then: "Well, fuck you too, fucking Universe."

"Excuse me?"

"No," Charlie says, and she laughs this sarcastic laugh. "No. This is _not_ happening. You are _not_ Rachel and our children are _not_ about to walk into fucking _Lima, Ohio_."

"Charlie, what are you - "

"I have to go," Charlie rushes out. "We have to get them before they arrive. Fuck, what if they're already there? What if someone figures it out?"

"Charlie, Charlie, what is happening?"

Charlie sucks in a sharp, distraught breath. "God, I'm so sorry, Rachel. I don't even - I can't explain - I'm just - I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I promise I didn't mean for any of this to happen." She curses under her breath. "Look, I promise I'm going to do everything I can to make sure they're safe, okay? I promise Lily will come home to you. I'll make sure they're safe if it's the last thing I do." And then she hangs up.

The silence following the dropped call is suffocating, and the only thing ringing in Rachel's mind is _safe from what_?

Safe from _who_?

* * *

Predictably, when Rachel immediately tries Charlie's number again, she gets no answer. It takes her another few seconds to get into gear, and then she's flying out of bed and calling everyone she knows. She starts with Santana, obviously, because her best friend has always been a voice of (reluctant) reason for her.

Only, it doesn't help either of them that Rachel can't seem to explain just what's going on. She just can't seem to get the words out of her mouth in any way that makes sense. She's panicked, obviously, but there's a certain terror seeping into her bones, because she could hear _something_ in Charlie's voice. It was the type of fear that Rachel remembers feeling only once before when she managed to lose Lily in _Macy's_ when the girl was five years old.

Rachel was convinced she would never see her daughter again, and she _knows_ that's what Charlie sounded like.

"Slow down, Berry," Santana says into the phone, sounding as if she's just waking up. "What are you even saying? What about Lily?"

"She's gone, San," Rachel says. "She's gone. Boarded a bus to Lima. She took off with Beth last night, and Charlie is so calm it's scary, and I'm freaking out, and what if I never see my daughter again? God, I can't lose her, San. I can't. She's my entire world. She can't just - "

"Rachel," Santana interrupts. "Breathe, babe. Just breathe, okay? We're going to figure this out." She takes her own deep breath. "Have you heard from the camp?"

"No, but I see I have a few missed calls here," she says. "I should do that."

"Yes," Santana says, sounding composed. "Find out as much as you can, okay? Britt and I are going to be at your place soon, okay? Just, get your stuff ready, okay? Get Stella to book us the first flight to Ohio. Everything is going to be okay. Lily is fine. She's going to be fine."

There's no way for Santana to know that for sure, but Rachel needs to hear the reassurance.

It's the only thing she thinks will get her through the next hours of unknown without suffocating from the helplessness.


	3. Life in the City

**Part Three**

**Life in the City**

* * *

The next few hours are some the most excruciating of Rachel's adult life. She really doesn't know what level of crazy she would have reached if Santana didn't take control of the situation and use her own contacts to make sure everyone was on alert for two young girls, travelling together towards Columbus, Ohio.

The alert, they'll all come to realise later, is where it all falls to pieces.

The police in Pennsylvania and the police in Ohio receive pictures of both girls, along with their names, last known whereabouts and what they are believed to be wearing. The situation is broadcast over all the police communications to be on the lookout for the girls.

This, again, is where it all goes wrong.

Rachel realises they're several hours behind Charlie, and even further behind their daughters, and she doesn't quite know what to expect when she, Santana and Brittany finally land in Columbus on the earliest flight they could find. Rachel paid top dollar for the seats, but that's barely a worry now. She just needs to see her daughter, and she needs to know why Charlie was acting so... weird on the phone.

"She's hiding something, definitely," Santana rants as she drives them from Columbus to Lima at a breakneck speed. Neither Rachel or Brittany is willing to tell her slow down, so they just leave her be, even though Rachel will probably haunt her forever if they end up dying on this road. "I mean, did I call it or what? I told you she was trouble, Berry, but did you listen? No, you didn't. Same with that man-baby you decided was a good idea to marry. You've always been so fucking stubborn."

Rachel ignores her verbal spiel in favour of trying Charlie's phone again. Nothing. She calls the local police department, only to be put on hold. The officer sounds frazzled, as if he's dealing with a very real situation, and she almost feels sorry for him until she remembers that her ten-year-old is missing.

Technically.

Well, Rachel thinks as they get closer to her childhood hometown, if there was ever one way to bring her back to Lima, this is definitely the way to do it. In her blind panic, she didn't really allow herself to come to terms with the idea that she would be returning to her hometown for the first time since she left on that train for New York following graduation, determined never to look back again.

She tries not to think about _that_ too much, but she can't really help it.

Lima is Quinn, and Quinn is... no.

No.

Not now.

Not today.

"Maybe she's some kind of retired international spy," Brittany offers when Santana's ranting has ceased. "Or an assassin. That would be so cool."

Sometimes, Rachel wishes she could see the world the way Brittany does, but today is not that day. Today, she's wound so tightly that she's bound to reach her breaking point before they even get to their destination. The last thing she wants to do is snap at her best friends, so she bites harshly at the inside of her cheek until she can taste blood.

It helps.

"Go to my parents' house first," Rachel says as they're entering Lima. It doesn't even look as if anything has changed. Still, she can't help her shudder when they drive past the accident site that claimed three lives, and she doesn't miss the way Santana purposefully looks away. They're all still so haunted by it. "I don't know why they're not answering the house phone. Even their cells aren't going through."

They learn why just moments later when Santana turns into the street on which Rachel grew up and -

And -

The house is gone.

Completely.

The entire _house_. Blown up, from the looks of things. There's debris everywhere and dozens of law enforcement officials running around. There are flashing lights and trucks and vans and people are yelling and screaming and the house is _gone_.

Disappeared.

It takes far too long for the reality of the situation to sink in for Rachel and, when it does, she's scrambling to get out of the car and running towards where her house used to be. Her vision is blurry from her tears, and she's about to break through the yellow tape when strong arms make a grab for her waist, halting her progress.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there," the voice belonging to the body behind her says.

Rachel thinks she must say something along the lines of _that's my house_ or _where are my parents_? because she gets carted towards an older man who seems to be in charge of the scene. He's distracted by something when Rachel is presented to him and he's about to question her identity when Santana suddenly appears at her side, face blank and Rachel's phone clutched in her hand.

"What?" Rachel asks, and her voice doesn't even sound as if it's her own.

Santana silently hands her the phone, and Rachel hesitantly brings it up to her ear.

"Hello."

"Is this Rachel Weston?"

"Speaking."

"I'm calling from Lima General. We have your daughter here."

Rachel can't even bring herself to breathe.

"She's unharmed, if a little traumatised," the woman says. "How soon can you get here?"

"Soon," is all her brain thinks to say, and then she gives the phone back to Santana. "We - we have to go to the hospital." She looks to the man standing in front of her, who is now eyeing her curiously. "Were there any people in that house?" she asks, because she needs to know. Where are her fathers?

"At this point, it's still unclear," he admits, but it sounds as if he's lying to her, and she really doesn't want to think about what that could possibly mean. "Do you have any idea why anyone would target you or your parents?"

Rachel blinks. "Someone _targeted_ them?"

"This is no accident," the man says, and he looks confused by that truth, because this kind of thing does _not_ happen in little old Lima. Another officer taps him on the shoulder then, and he turns away. Rachel hears the man say _Marshall Williams is on the line for you, Sir. He has information you need to know on the situation_.

The man turns back to Rachel, and she tries her best not to show she recognises the name Marshall Williams. "You said you're going to the hospital?"

"Yes. My - my daughter, she's - "

"Do you require an escort?"

And, Rachel just nods because she honestly doesn't know if her own legs can realistically carry her wherever she needs to go.

* * *

"Mommy!"

Rachel wouldn't even be able to explain the sudden relief that floods her the moment she hears that voice, her entire body whipping around just in time to catch Lily as she throws her entire self at Rachel. Rachel barely has a chance to get a good look at her before she's squeezing the girl with everything she has. She feels Santana and Brittany wrap their own arms around them, and she's never been more grateful for this village helping her raise her daughter.

"Baby," Rachel says, moving to release Lily so she can see her properly. There's a bit of soot on her left cheek, her hair is a right mess and she's got dust on her clothes. "Sweetheart, what on earth happened?"

Lily sucks in a deep breath, and then says, "Me and Beth went to Grandpas' house, but they weren't there, so we were just going to wait, but then these big men arrived with these big guns and they tied us up inside the house and they kept asking Beth where her grandfather was, but Beth's never even met her grandfather, so they told Beth to call her mommy, so her mommy came, and she's so pretty, Mommy, but then they started asking her questions about her father and she didn't know, and she tried to make the men let us go because we're just kids." She pauses to take another breath. "Beth's mommy told us to close our eyes, so we did. Then there were all these sounds, because she was fighting them, Mommy, like _Wonder Woman_, and then Beth's mommy was untying us and then telling us to run as fast as we possibly could, so we did, but then she wasn't behind us, and then - " she stops, her voice catching. "Then the house exploded."

And then she bursts into tears, as if the reality of what's just happened to her is just now hitting her, and Rachel wraps her arms around her body, determined never to let her go ever again. She doesn't even care. She's never letting Lily out of her sight for the rest of her life.

They're still locked in a tight embrace when a man dressed in some kind of uniform emerges from a corridor, his face set and serious. He looks displeased and concerned and even a little disappointed. His eyes settle on Rachel and something happens to his expression that she can't quite read.

"Rachel Weston?" he asks, and Rachel nods, carefully rising while keeping hold of Lily, who has legs and arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders respectively. "My name is U.S. Marshall Jethro Williams," he says. "Might I have a word with you in private?"

Rachel glances down at Lily and then looks back at the man. "Is it about Charlie?"

He nods, solemn.

Rachel clenches her jaw, and then looks at Lily again. "Sweetheart, I'm going to give you to Aunt Santana, okay? Mommy has to talk to this man about Beth's mommy, okay?"

Lily blinks. "Is she dead?"

Rachel just shakes her head, and then passes Lily to Santana without saying a word because, God, she doesn't know what she'll do if the actual answer to that question is yes. In silence, she follows behind the Marshall, and she feels the weight of the situation truly begin to settle on her.

The first thing he says when they're safely away from prying ears is, "She's not dead," and Rachel breathes out in relief. "It's one thing she made sure I would tell you. She - she wouldn't want you to go through that again."

Rachel frowns, not quite following.

He clears his throat. "She managed to get into the basement before the bomb went off," he explains, as if Charlie was somehow familiar with the house. He shakes his head. "I think you've managed to figure out that Charlie... isn't exactly who she said she is."

She nods, having gathered that much, at least. She's not a complete idiot, no matter what Santana says.

"She's been part of the Witness Protection Program for twelve years now," he says, sounding almost proud. "She managed to cultivate a life for herself, her daughter and her mother until, well, Beth decided to use her puppy-dog eyes to convince her going to camp in Pennsylvania was a good idea, and now we're here."

"Where exactly are we?"

He clenches his jaw. "She got sloppy," he says, and now he sounds disappointed. "With Beth, and with you." He licks his lips. "She fell in love, and it almost got her killed. It almost got _Beth_ killed. _And_ Lily."

Rachel tenses at the mention of her daughter.

"I'm sorry," he says. "_She's_ sorry."

And, suddenly, Rachel just knows. "We're never going to hear from them again, are we?"

Now, he looks pained. "I'm afraid not," he says. "When we leave here, it will be as if Charlotte and Beth Green never existed."

Rachel tries her best not to react, but she can't quite manage it, and she suddenly hates this man with his pitying eyes and his sympathy. "What am I supposed to tell Lily?"

"That's your prerogative," he says. "Regardless, her friendship with Beth will not continue."

Rachel keeps her breathing steady. "Do I at least get to see her?" she asks, and her voice is so low. "Just once?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"They're already gone, aren't they?"

"I'm sorry," he says again, and it looks as if he truly means it.

Rachel's heart aches in a way it hasn't in years. She doesn't know what's worse: knowing Charlie is out there and not being able to get to her, or knowing she's gone from the world. "Do you happen to know where my parents are?" she asks, because she needs to focus on something else.

"I believe they're at a function being held in Columbus," he says. "They should be returning this evening."

"To what?" she asks bitterly. "Their house is gone, and it's Charlie's fault." It's not, she knows, but she's angry and hurt and heartsore, and she needs someone to blame.

"She feels the same way," he says, and there's a lilt of amusement in his tone, as if he's a father who understands his child far too well. "Which is why she's offered to pay for the repairs, or the purchase of a new home. She understands nothing can make up for the sentimental value, but this is all she can offer."

"I don't want her money," Rachel snaps. "My daughter almost died. What lump sum would she have offered then?"

He suddenly looks exhausted. "The lump sum, Mrs Weston, would have been her life," he says, and Rachel can't even breathe. "She made you a promise, didn't she? Your daughter is safe. She did everything she could to make sure she made it home, blindly walking into a hostile situation with the sole purpose of keeping your children safe." He looks away for a moment. "Believe me when I say I wish I could offer you more, but their safety is the most important thing. I hope you can understand that."

Rachel doesn't want to, but she still does understand. "What about us?"

"You were a means to an end," he says, and it stings. "All they know is Beth went to a house in Lima, a town where her grandfather once lived, and now that house no longer exists. You are safe. You all are." It's the last thing he says, and she'll spend years wishing she'd managed to hold it together enough to ask him all the questions that will plague her for many, many nights

But, then, he's gone, and so is Charlie, and Rachel knows this isn't the time to break down.

What it is time for, though, is the truth.

So, when she returns to her family and Santana asks, "Is she dead?" Rachel says _yes_ because Charlotte Dianna Green well and truly _is_.

* * *

Even though Rachel _knows_ Charlie's email address is probably inactive, she still tries to send an email. It bounces back, of course. Her phone is also disconnected and, yeah, it's as if Charlie never existed.

Once Rachel's anger has simmered down, she has many regrets.

But, telling them all that Charlie didn't survive is not one of them. It's really the only explanation she can give for the fact Beth has disappeared somewhere in the world with her grieving grandmother where Lily is concerned. Rachel tells Santana and Brittany and her fathers that Charlie was in the Witness Protection Program, and the people who were looking for her family managed to find them the moment it was announced Beth Green crossed into Ohio, setting off some kind of alerts with the people who, apparently, hold twelve years worth of grudges.

It takes Rachel a week to be able to leave Lima with her daughter and best friends, after she's fielded her fathers' questions, helped them file for their insurance and gone through many a property listings in the hope of finding them a new home, only for them to mention their desire to leave Lima, Ohio. She tries and fails to keep the relief off her face. Never having to return to that place is the best gift they could ever give her.

For now, they're staying in one of the guest rooms at Rachel's New York apartment, and she's grateful for the help, because Lily's nightmares start just days after they return home. It isn't exactly a surprise, and Rachel wastes no time in sending her to a trauma counsellor. Rachel sees her own therapist to help her cope, but it's still months before she can even begin to forgive Charlie, and then another few months to understand her.

Lily, ever resilient, recovers quite swiftly, and they barely even talk about that time of their lives, which is why is catches her completely off guard when Lily is twelve years old and very seriously says, "I killed her, didn't I?"

Rachel almost drops the cup in her hands. "What?"

"Beth's Mom," she says, looking somewhat detached. "If I hadn't convinced Beth to come to Ohio with me, none of it would have happened, and - " she stops, her voice catching on a sob, and Rachel rushes towards her, wrapping her in a hug that Rachel thinks she needs more than Lily does.

This is the moment Rachel knows Lily will never forgive her for the lie. She will never accept that Rachel had no choice but to tell a distraught, ten-year-old that she would never see Beth again because Beth's mother _died_... trying to protect them.

_God_.

She's a terrible mother.

Rachel cries with Lily for several hours, and then they're both back in therapy. It takes longer this time around, but Lily finally accepts that fate and destiny both played parts in what happened, and it's never been her fault. What happened, happened, and they're all learning to live with it.

Things have just managed to settle after Lily's thirteenth birthday, when Rachel's entire world tilts on its axis the second Lily very casually asks, "Mom, why didn't you tell me you went to school with Beth's mom?"

Rachel freezes. "What?"

Lily must sense she's said something wrong, because she very carefully slides across the carpet with one of the yearbooks Santana brought around because _Brittany told me to get rid of some of this shit before the baby arrives, and I thought you'd want it, because we all know you're a sentimental asshole_. Rachel teased her about wanting to get as many swear words out of her system before she had little ears around.

"Look," Lily says, climbing onto the couch beside her mother. "I don't really understand, because that's not her name, but that is definitely Beth's mom. I saw her with my own eyes."

And, when Rachel wills herself to look, Lily is pointing at a picture of Quinn Fabray.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Rachel feels all the air leave her body in one fell swoop because, God, everything suddenly makes so much more sense and, oh my God, Rachel fell in love with Quinn _twice_. She almost laughs at the absurdity of it all, because she also _lost_ Quinn twice.

"Mom?" Lily questions. "Are you okay?"

Rachel just drags her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. "Sweetheart, I realise this must all be a little confusing for you, but I'm going to need you to keep this just between the two of us. Do you think you could do that for me?"

Lily looks unsure for a moment, but she eventually nods. "Okay, Mom."

One day, she knows she'll have to tell the truth about Charlie, and about Quinn, but today isn't that day.

* * *

That day, apparently, happens when Lily is fifteen and Rachel's father calls her from somewhere in Columbus, where he's attending a conference, to tell her that Russell Fabray just testified in a large RICO case against the investment firm he used to work for, and a lot of powerful men are going to be spending the rest of their lives in jail, as a result.

The news should be significant, but it's not, because it changes very little.

The news that _is_ and _does_, is that Russell Fabray is found dead in his hotel room in Las Vegas after refusing further protection the following week, and _that_ is news that changes far too much for Rachel to compute realistically in one sitting. It also doesn't help her that Jethro Williams calls her the next day and says, "They're safe, and they're free."

It's a truth that she's unsure what to do with, but she still gathers her best friends and daughter and explains everything as best she knows it. Lily screams some rather unsavoury things, and then storms off towards her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Kurt sits, stunned.

Brittany beams, as if she'd known the entire time - which, given Brittany, isn't wildly an inaccurate thought - and Santana just looks rather shocked.

"Wait," Santana says. "What do you mean when you say you fell for her twice?"

Rachel blinks. "What?" Because, of course, _that's_ the part on which Santana is going to pick up.

"Holy shit," she says. "You totally had the hots for Fabray when we were in high school."

"I hardly believe that's the most important part of what I've just told you," Rachel says, indignant. "Didn't you hear what I said? Quinn is alive. _Quinn_ is _alive_, and so is her baby. Her daughter. _Noah's_ daughter."

That gets a reaction, and Santana's eyes fill with tears.

Kurt lets out a chocked sound. "He's - he's hated himself every single day for this," he says, referring to Finn.

"The car accident was, apparently, an attempt to grab hold of Quinn to use her as leverage against her father," Rachel explains what Jethro ended up telling her. "Noah died trying to protect her and the baby. He's their hero. She's never forgotten."

Santana clears her throat. "Where are they now?"

"D.C."

Santana lets out a slow breath. "What happens now?"

"I don't know."

* * *

It's two weeks later when she receives it, and her heart jumps right into her throat, bombarding all her other senses, and she actually has to step out of the room to take a moment to compose herself. It's been a trying two weeks, with Lily as mad at her as possible, as well as dealing with her own constant debate about how to move forward with what she now knows.

**To: rachel_weston1993  
****From: jessicaelisegrant  
****Subject: Hi.  
****Date: 23 November**** 2028**

_Dear Rachel,_

_I should probably admit that I've been drafting this particular email for the past five years, give or take. There's always been so much I wanted to tell you, but it all sounded like complete horse shit when I read over it last week. Excuses are probably not what you want, but they're all I have. Excuses that aren't even my own. I wish I had more to offer, but I don't. Just myself, I'm afraid._

_Right now, my name is Jessica Elise Grant. I go by Jess. I'm thirty-four years old. I work as a paediatric and neo-natal surgeon at Children's National Medical Centre in Washington D.C. I have a daughter. Her name is Elle, and she's a senior in high school. I have a mother, who works as a real estate agent because she claims she gets bored during the day. We have a dog, a labrador, named Ash. He's a terror, sometimes, but he's lovely. I'm single, and I'm gay. I am still in love with you._

_Five years ago, my name was Charlotte Dianna Green. I was twenty-nine years old and working towards becoming a paediatric surgeon at Yale New Haven Children's Hospital in Connecticut. My daughter's name was Beth. She was twelve years old. We lived with my mother, who took up knitting as a way to combat her daily boredom. We had two goldfish, Pete and Andre, who were really the perfect pets to have when you barely sleep as it is. I was single, gay and I was in love with you._

_Seventeen years ago, my name was Lucy Quinn Fabray and I lived in a tired little town called Lima, Ohio. I was seventeen years old and, well, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was pregnant, homeless, lost in all the worst ways and hopeless. All I knew was I was going to have a baby, and everything after that was a mystery to me. I did not live with my mother. I didn't have any pets. I think I was single (that last day in Lima is sometimes all a blur of screaming and crying and blood and men in uniforms and my mother telling me she was sorry for ever letting me go). I think I was gay. I was in love with you._

_There are many, many years between then and now, and I would like to tell you about them, if you'll let me. The people I've met, the experiences I've had, the days I've wanted to crawl into a tiny ball and forget the world, the feeling of being separated from everything and everyone you know, the terror of never knowing if the new person in your life is going to try to take you away, the pain of having to explain to my daughter that she can never see her friends again, the absolute fear of facing down three armed men with two innocent girls at my back, the horror of realising I would never be able to see you again, the utter heartbreak of figuring out who you were and that I would have to hurt you all over again, the hurt of knowing you probably hate me, the sorrow for which I would never be able to apologise to you in person, and the sheer feeling of being so stupidly in love that nobody has ever come close in comparison._

_It's a lot to ask, I know, but I'm still asking. Please._

_If it's too much, I understand._

_If it's too much for us, I promise I will understand. But, Elle asked that I pass on her number for Lily. I don't know what she's been told, but Elle's always missed her first true friend. If that's also something that won't be, we'll both understand. You learn to, when you live the lives we've been living. I've attached my own number as well, just in case. Here's hoping, I guess._

_Hope you're well. Happy Thanksgiving._

_Kind regards,_  
_Jess_

_P.S. That pesky feeling has never quite managed to disappear. I hope you've had better luck than I have._

It's a lot and not nearly enough, and Rachel has absolutely no idea how she's supposed to reply. Does she even have to? She wants to, she knows, but she doesn't think she's truly ready for the can of worms she would be opening if she did.

She's never truly been able to escape Quinn Fabray, and, if it weren't so heartbreaking, she would find in hilarious.

What she does decide is that the answer to what Quinn/Charlie/Jess is asking is _not now_.

It's the only thing of which she's actually sure.

* * *

Jess emails again on Rachel's birthday, just a short one, wishing her a good day and encouraging her to stay warm during the freezing New York temperatures. If Rachel were to be honest, she would have to admit this one is even worse than the first one, though she wouldn't be able to explain why.

She _cares_.

She _remembers_.

It's all too much, and Rachel has to excuse herself from the conversation she's having with Kurt and another fashion designer she's somewhat friendly with, and then disappears into her bedroom, just so she can _breathe_. The party was her girlfriend's idea, and Rachel didn't quite have a valid enough excuse to refuse it. She's never told Sophie about Quinn or Charlie, and she certainly hasn't mentioned Jess. Right now, Sophie thinks Lily's mad at her because of some kind of teenage rebellion.

It's so much deeper than that.

This is seventeen years deep, and Rachel doesn't know what she's supposed to do.

She _wants_.

She's bound to get hurt here, she knows. She also feels guilty keeping this from her friends. And from Lily. Her daughter would hate her even more if she found out Rachel has been sitting on this for almost a month.

This email, though, this is Quinn at her finest. Understated but immersive. She's nowhere and everywhere at the same time, and Rachel both hates and loves her for it, because this is the email that _breaks_ her.

_Destroys_ her.

* * *

It's Santana who finds her forty-two minutes later, curled up on the floor of her closet, hidden away from people who wouldn't know where to look for her. Unfortunately, the Latina definitely knows. She's found her there far too many times.

"You know, you're missing a banging party out there," Santana says as she practically drops herself to the floor and groans. "God, I'm too fucking old for this."

"You're just tired after chasing your two-year-old around like the little whipped Mama you are."

"Shut up."

Rachel wipes at her eyes, and she settles into the crook of Santana's arm when the Latina offers up the space. The silence that follows is also comforting, and it lulls her into the confession that's been eating away at her. "Quinn emailed me."

Santana doesn't react beyond pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes. "What did she have to say?"

Rachel just pulls up the message thread on her phone and hands it to her, not trusting herself to be able to explain, anyway. She just sits in silence as Santana reads, and then still doesn't say anything when Santana sets the phone facedown on the carpet.

"Well."

Rachel almost smiles.

"My gaydar always pinged with that one, you know," she says, and then swallows nervously. Guiltily. "I didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"How she felt about you," Santana whispers. "It seemed cruel to tell you, after everything that happened. You were already struggling so much, and I didn't know if it would help or make things worse to know."

Rachel shifts away from her. "To know," she echoes. "That she loved me when we were in high school, and we ended up breaking each other's hearts?"

"Yes."

And, Rachel is back to crying. Sobbing, really. She's turning thirty-five and it's supposed to be a happy day, but all she can really recall is the angel that is Quinn Fabray walking down that corridor; into the light and out of her life.

But, now, she wants back in, and Rachel _wants_.

She wants so much.

"What are you going to do?" Santana asks.

Rachel audibly swallows. "Well, first, I'm going to tell Lily," she says, and that's really the part that terrifies her the most.

"Then?"

Rachel blinks. "I'll have to talk to Sophie," she says, and she feels a twinge of guilt and hurt at the idea of ending the relationship. "Though, it does seem a bit cruel to do so during the holidays."

"She's an atheist. I think she'll survive."

Rachel does smile this time. "You _really_ don't like her, do you?"

Santana mutters something under her breath, and then says, "While not as close as New Haven, D.C. isn't exactly across the country, you know," with a serious expression.

"I know."

* * *

.

* * *

By the time Rachel does contact Jess, it's already halfway through January. She's also newly single and her daughter is finally talking to her again. She's probably going to be in the best place she possibly can be after all the truth bombs that have been dropped on her in the past few months.

Bombs.

Probably too soon for that.

Rachel doesn't bother with email this time around. She knows to whom she's talking, and so does the person on the other end of the line. She's also slightly impatient, and she wants immediate contact. So, she sends a text.

**Rachel**: _I don't know what neo-natal means_.

It's probably not the most graceful way to begin a conversation, but inane pleasantries just seem unnecessary and tiresome. She's fine but also not fine, and she doesn't want to be _greeting_ this woman who's been on her mind in various forms since she was fourteen years old.

Anyway.

The reply comes nineteen minutes later, and Rachel is, once again, hit by that childish feeling of actually talking her crush. God, she's supposed to have outgrown this.

**Jess**: _It means I operate on babies while they're still in the womb_.

**Rachel**: _Wow_.

And she means it.

**Jess**: _I think it's pretty neat myself, yip_.

**Rachel**: _You're actually such a dork. How did I not know that_?

There are two long minutes to wait for a reply.

**Jess**: _I have to confess that I've been a little jealous of my daughter the past few weeks, though I'll probably never admit it to her._

**Rachel**: _Why_?

She already knows the response.

**Jess**: _She got to talk to Lily, and I didn't get to talk to you_.

Rachel takes a slow, steadying breath.

**Rachel**: _I had a few things to take care of, and, well, you have nothing to be jealous about anymore_.

**Jess**: _Oh_?

**Rachel**: _Hello. How are you? My name is Rachel Berry, and I have every intention of talking to you for the rest of my life_.

**Rachel**: _But, first, what do I call you_?

**Jess**: _Whatever you want_.

Rachel smiles to herself.

**Rachel**: _You're probably going to regret saying that, Buttercup_.

* * *

Rachel calls Jess for the first time on her birthday.

Well, she calls on _Quinn's_ birthday, which is just a few days before Valentine's Day, and the two of them spend almost six hours talking about absolute nonsense, before they spend two hours dissecting the future of their relationship.

In March, Jess casually mentions that Elle is looking at colleges in the New York area.

In April, Rachel very carefully alludes to the idea of her and Lily possibly making the first trip to Washington D.C. to watch Elle's graduation in two months' time.

In May, Jess sends Rachel an email with the various job offers she's received from hospitals in New York.

In June, Rachel and Lily fly to Washington D.C., and are met at the airport by two blondes, both of them smiling from ear to ear. It would be awkward, maybe, but it's not, and Rachel feels all the tension she didn't even know she had in her body just... relax. Quinn Fabray is standing right in front of her, and then she's in her arms, and nothing has ever felt this _right_ in her entire life.

Rachel calls her Sugar Plum and Pumpkin Pie and Strawberry Shortcake the same way she's been doing through their endless texts and phone calls, her hand sliding into a pale one she's convinced was made for her, their fingers fitting together so perfectly for that to be anything other than true. She can hear their girls giggling together behind her, and she's never felt more content in all her years on earth. Every success, every award and accolade; none of them compares to this moment right here.

When this blonde woman smiles at her, her cheeks pink and her hazel eyes twinkling, before she looks over her shoulder and asks their teenage daughters what they want for dinner.

Pizza, apparently.

Rachel also gets kisses.

Lots and lots of kisses, though the girls don't need to know that.

In July, Quinn, Judy and Beth Fabray - and Ash - move to New York City, reclaiming the lives Russell Fabray's actions robbed them of. They occupy a small apartment in Manhattan, all of them accepting the pretence that Rachel and Quinn think it's _too soon_ to be living together. Still, the apartment is largely Judy's selection because, in a few weeks, Beth will be off to college and it's likely Quinn will be spending most of her free time with Rachel, _at_ Rachel's.

It's true.

There's more than enough space, and the two younger Fabray women already have an abundance of items in the house within the first week.

The second week is when Quinn is reintroduced and Beth is introduced to Brittany, Santana, Kurt, and his husband Blaine. They also meet Santana and Brittany's three year old son, Luca, and Kurt and Blaine's two children, Jonathan and Alicia.

The third week is when Quinn meets Rachel's fathers at an awkward 'meet the parents' dinner that turns out not to be that awkward when LeRoy and Quinn start talking about the latest developments in surgical techniques. Well.

Rachel's fathers also adore Beth when they meet, _obviously_, and it feels as if everything is finally clicking into place.

The fourth week includes an unplanned meeting between Quinn and Brody, who _happened_ to want to come up to Rachel's apartment to fetch Lily himself, as if she hasn't been heading across the borough to visit him by herself since she was fourteen and presented a compelling _PowerPoint_ presentation to get her parents to agree to it. Lily just rolls her eyes at him before rushing to fetch her duffel bag from her bedroom and leaving Quinn standing in the doorway, dressed casually with her glasses perched on her nose.

"So, you're the Quinn my daughter can't seem to stop talking about?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side. "Guilty."

Thankfully, Lily returns before he can say anything else, and she drags him away like the teenager she is, grumbling to herself about how utterly embarrassing and pathetic her father can be. When Quinn tells Rachel about it later over dinner, Quinn just laughs off her apology and teases her about having a type: douche.

"What does that make you?" Rachel asks, chucking a chickpea at her.

Quinn's smile turns soft and genuine when she says, "The exception," and they both know she always has been.

On the anniversary of the day Charlie first emailed Rachel, Quinn takes her out on a date that ends with them making love for the first time. As cliché as it sounds, it honestly feels as if every moment has led up to this one and, when Rachel finally has Quinn around her and inside her and _everywhere_, it's as if the Universe is saying _you've suffered enough_ and _here she is_ and _don't mess it up_.

At breakfast in the morning, Lily wrinkles her nose at them and says, "Gross."

Quinn kisses the top of her head, and looks at Beth. "And, you? Do you have something to add?"

Beth's smirk grows as she sips from her cup of coffee. "I think, out of all the names Rachel's tried on you, my favourite has to be _god, yes, Quinn, yes, right here, sweet Jesus, yes, ye_ \- " she jumps back with a squeal, spilling her coffee, just in time to avoid her mother's lunge.

She ends up grounded for a week that's really just one night.

In mid-August, Quinn takes Beth to Lima, Ohio, when she finally agrees to the offer Quinn made when the truth about who they are was finally allowed to come out. It's an emotional trip for them both, in that Quinn returns to the world she left behind too many years ago. They visit Noah's grave, before they visit Noah's mother, who has aged considerably from what Quinn remembers of her. She cries when Quinn explains how her son fought; how her son is the reason she and Beth are even still here; how her son has continued to live on in his daughter; how Quinn will never stop them from knowing each other.

Quinn leaves grandmother and granddaughter to cry together and pore over baby pictures of Noah and his little sister, who Quinn will be making plans with to have them all meet up. She drives to her old high school first, and it's a cathartic, nostalgic experience for her. She's spent a lot of time wondering how her life would have ended up if she'd been allowed to _stay_. Would she have kept her baby? Would she have reconciled with her mother? Would she have chosen medicine as her desired career? Would she and Rachel have finally worked it out and actually ended up together?

Next, she visits Burt's Garage and ends up giving Finn Hudson the fright of his life. Of course, Kurt told him all he needed to know about the situation, but he honestly never expected to see her again. And, yet, there she is, smiling sheepishly and fiddling with the hem of her shirt in that way he remembers her doing when she wanted to do something but wasn't sure she _could_.

So, Finn just opens his arms, and she surges forward without giving it a second thought. He's always given the best hugs, and they really weren't all that good at verbal communication, anyway.

"Would you like to meet her?" she asks him later, while they're sitting on a couch in the back with untouched cups of coffee on the table in front of them. "She's - she's so like him in all the best ways, it's sometimes annoying."

His smile is genuine, happy, and she can practically see the guilt and self-loathing bleed out of him. "Does she know who I am?"

Quinn sobers slightly. "Yes," she says. "She knows all of it. I made sure she did when she was old enough, and she knows that you once loved her as if she were your own."

His own eyes are teary when he says, "Then, of course, I'd love to meet her."

She meets his gaze. "He loved you, you know?"

Finn covers her hand with his own. "I know," he says, sombre. "He loved you more, though," and they both know it's the truth.

In September, Beth Fabray starts classes at Columbia, Dr Quinn Fabray takes up an Attending position at Mount Sinai, Lily Weston starts her junior year of high school and Rachel Berry makes her debut as Fanny Brice.

(Oh, and Quinn Fabray finally gets _Facebook_. Santana's the first to post on her wall: _I totally called it, **Rachel Berry. **She's hot!_)

It's always been ups and downs, so many years in the making, but there's a certain comfort to be found in the fact they're nowhere near the summit.

* * *

_Fin_


End file.
